Never?
by birdie7272
Summary: "If I asked you to leave Mary, would you?"/ Johnlock.


AN: I'm still alive! Have some johnlock angst... yay?

* * *

 **Never?**

* * *

John cracked open a beer and plopped onto the couch. His chair was gone. It had a new home in the apartment he shared with Mary.

It had been 18 days since any furniture blocked Sherlock's view to the kitchen. 18 days for the dust to collect over the patches of discolored wood. 18 days for the shadows and sunbeams to touch new places.

Sherlock hated it.

John guzzled approximately a third of his beverage before he finally asked what had been clearly on his mind since the thoughtless comment made hours before. "You never see yourself falling in love then? Ever?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tugged his laptop closer, as if it could protect him from the bombardment of stupidity. It wasn't John's fault. Not completely. He had been away from Sherlock for too long, caught in married life with a pregnant wife. With so much tedium, his mind was bound to wither away like the rest of those suburban nitwits.

What a waste.

"Seriously," John continued. "Never? What if it just happens to you? You can't control it you know. You do know that, right?"

Sherlock sighed, refusing to look away from his screen. "Why would I ever want to do that?" He mocked, "Put someone first. Above my work. Care for them without regard to anything I may want. Do their laundry, make their tea, bring them dinner, kiss their metaphorical wounds…." Sherlock trailed off and let his eyes bounce around the room, rapidly collecting the data surrounding him.

 _Laundry._

A pile of recently washed trousers hung on a hook by the door. John had picked up his dry-cleaning without request.

 _Tea._

A fresh cup laid out for him two hours before. Sherlock had forgotten it was there almost the moment it had been set down in front of him, by John.

 _Dinner_.

Next to the tea were the remains of Chinese. John had picked it up for them along the way.

 _Wounds_.

Kissing wounds was unhygienic. At least John had enough brains left to see this much. Though it was clear to Sherlock exactly who took care of most -if not all- of his.

"Oh."

"What, oh?" John laughed from the kitchen, apparently having finished his beer in the time it took for Sherlock to reach the obvious conclusion. "You suddenly find the answer to the mystery of the heart?"

"John," Sherlock snapped his laptop shut. "If I asked you to leave Mary, would you?"

John, for whatever reason, jumped in surprise. "What? What are you on about?"

"Asking a question." Sherlock observed from his chair as John set about cleaning the counter and preparing yet another cup of tea.

John shook his head and flung the kettle under the tap. "If I would leave Mary. Do you know something I don't?"

"No." Sherlock smirked and jumped out of his chair, flinging his laptop behind. John's hand twitched and Sherlock's adrenaline started to drizzle into his nervous system. Oh, he was onto something. "You know everything I do. Well… I know more, but nothing you want to know."

"Then why are you asking?"

Sherlock moved into the kitchen, blocking John's easiest exit.

Sherlock's eyes zipped up and down John's body as he continued to make the tea, ripping bags from packaging and slamming the kettle onto the stovetop. He jumped when Sherlock suddenly spoke so close, "I want to know."

John didn't answer aloud. He shook his head, leaned on the counter, then muttered, "Why the hell would you want to know something like that?"

His smile widening, Sherlock stepped forward, hooked a chair under his ankle and tugged it behind him. He slipped between John and the table, slowly making his way to the other side of the kitchen. Poor John didn't even realize how trapped he was.

Sherlock pretended to look for something in the fridge, drew up the will to repeat himself, and threw over his shoulder, "If I asked you to leave Mary, would you?"

Sherlock waited… and waited. What probably seemed only a momentary pause for John was quite obviously a meaningful hesitation to Sherlock. He full out grinned at the dismembered toes as he heard John chuck a clean mug on the counter –swearing as a small piece chipped onto the newly cleaned surface.

"No." John cleared his throat. "Not without a damn good reason."

Sherlock wiped the smile from his face and turned around, letting the fridge door fall shut. He shrugged, "She did shoot me."

John gave a wry smile, "I thought you were over that."

Then John turned and found himself stuck. The chair and table closed him off and Sherlock stepped around, boxing him in. John's eyes were as beady as a mouse as he searched for the possible escape. Sherlock could see every avenue cross his mind, including the one that involved crawling under the table. The soldier straightened his back and clenched his fists, preparing for a fight.

Sherlock fought back another smile. Silly John.

Sherlock nodded once and asked, "Are you? Over that?"

John nodded. "We put that behind us."

Sherlock's eyes darted to the living room where John's phone sat on the table, four text messages from Mary left unanswered. It was a Friday night. No doubt some customary date night for whatever reason. Fridays were just another day of the week, it never made any sense.

The phone lit up with another. John never would have ignored these now five messages before A.G.R.A.

 _First._

Sherlock took another step. John tried to get out of his way, but only jammed himself next to the sink.

Sherlock dropped his voice, accommodating for the proximity. "But what if I asked you then? Right after she shot me, right after you found out. Would you have left her then, if I asked you to?"

"Sherlock-" John was cracking, his jaw clenching. "-what the hell are you getting at? You're talking about me leaving Mary? And my child? Is this some kind of-"

"Experiment." He leaned forward, his arm closing John in tighter, his leg tilted to the side -solidifying the cage. "Curious."

John's arms crossed. Typical. "I don't want to play this game."

"Answer the question." Sherlock leaned further and there it was, John's eyes widening, his throat bobbing with a swallow, and his chest tilting forward. He was almost too easy to read. "The kid isn't born yet. What if I ask you now?"

"Sherlo-"

"What if I asked you to leave her?" Sherlock's other arm clutched at the counter, just outside of John's touch on either side. His eyes darted as John's brow pinched. "To come with me. To be with me this time when I travel the world, with you at my side. You and me against the world." Sherlock observed John's eyes widening, his body moving forward, ready for action, and just as Sherlock's lips started to part into a smile, he realized he was also having a physical experience thinking of John's answer. His heart was thrumming and the very idea sent his mind ablaze with possibilities. He was floating. Flying. Soaring. "What says you, John? Would you want to save the world with me?"

John swallowed. "Are you leaving again?"

"Are you coming with me?"

Their eyes locked for six heartbeats. Sherlock counted every one that pumped through John's carotid artery in his peripheral.

Then John's eyes dropped to the floor and he attempted to give a nonchalant shrug –but his clenching fist gave him away. "The baby shower is in two weeks."

"We can leave in two days," Sherlock challenged with a raised brow.

"I can't-"

"I didn't ask you if you can. I asked if you wanted to."

John shook his head and puffed out a breath. He tried to push at Sherlock's arm but the man refused to move.

"What's going on with-"

"Answer the question, John." Sherlock pulled his arms closer, pushing them flush against John's sides. He leaned forward, forcing John to lean back over the countertop. The man's forehead started to bead with sweat. "Do you _want_ to?"

John's tongue slid over his lips, his body fought to tilt itself upright, and it left him trembling for all of three seconds. Sherlock could see the exact moment his mind came to a halt when the choice was made –when the truth took flight from his subconscious and landed in a state of undeniable knowledge. There was just the slightest jerk of his head, a nod.

None of this was conscious, of course. Body language revealed more secrets than any could ever wish to reveal willingly.

 _Care above all else._

John whispered, "But… I can't. She's… it's a girl."

Sherlock held his gaze a moment more, noticing for a terrifying second that his own body language was betraying him, his mouth falling into a slight frown. He held himself there, close and still, unbelievably shocked, until the steam of boiling water shoved its way between them, forcing the kettle into a whining whistle.

"Pity," he said and flung away, flopping back into his chair with his laptop reopened.

John shook his head and proceeded to finish with the tea, placing a fresh cup next to Sherlock's first.

 _Tea._

"What was that?" John hesitated a moment before returning to his couch and glancing at his phone, pushing it away without opening a single message.

Sherlock stared at the flashing screen, unable to look away.

"I'm not good at being in love, John. I can never give the things you do. I could never make tea or dinner or the bed. I can only take. It's all I'm good for."

"Don't say that," John said with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've seen you make tea once. At least we know you're capable."

John probably thought Sherlock had acted strange because he didn't think he deserved to be loved or something horribly pedestrian. Pedestrian, suburban. It was such a tragedy. He could have been so much more.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally.

John took a few sips in silence before asking seriously. "Are you leaving though?" Sherlock did not answer. "When are you going?" Sherlock stared at the phone slowly sliding towards John's thigh, the indents of the cushion forcing it back to him. "Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock glanced at him with his best I'm-not-a-sociopath smile and forced himself to look at his laptop. It was open to a blank page. He typed into the search bar _'plane tickets London to Rome'_. "I'm not going anywhere. London needs me."

"Ah, so London is your one true love then." John chuckled and took another sip, his other hand reaching for the TV remote. It slid against the cell phone and John tugged them both into his lap, finally opening the most recent text and sending a short reply. Based on the movement of his thumb it no doubt regarded his whereabouts and the time he would return. _Soon_.

 _First._

Sherlock backspaced over his entry, letter by letter. "I would never leave without her. Never again."

"You think a city would just pack up and leave for you?" He chuckled again and murmured, "Actually, yeah I could see you believing that."

Sherlock looked over as John turned the TV on, flipping through the channels without truly paying attention, his wedding ring gleaming in the setting sun. "I have asked."

"What did she say?"

John didn't look over so Sherlock continued to stare. "She can't."

* * *

 _"Love? How trite. I will never subject myself to such an emotion."_

 _"What if it sneaks up on you?"_

 _"Please. I would see it coming and I would stop it."_

 _"Will you, though?"_

* * *

"Pity," John echoed.

"Yes." Sherlock broke his trance and returned to his screen. He typed a new search, _'baby shower gifts girl'_. "We would have been brilliant together."


End file.
